Blighty 2025 - More Steam

After a fractious day driving up the M42, M6 and M5 (Toll), we checked into our apartment in Manchester, and perhaps wished we hadn't. I'll do a piece about the accommodation here later, so we'll gloss over that issue now and write about a lovely day out on the East Lancashire Steam Railway (ELR).

As a birthday treat for Charlie, his mum booked tickets for a day out on the ELR. It's based in Bury, just north of Manchester, and is accessible by Bee Network tram from the city. I looked at the feasibility of using the public transport, but with a change of tram needed, and tram line delays in the centre due to construction, we were looking at at least an hour, when a car ride was going to take twenty-five minutes. Sorry Bee Network, for four of us, the car is the winner.

I also opted to start the day from the railway's eastern terminus, Heywood, rather than Bury. Given the free and reasonably large car park, and it's relative proximity to the motorway, it seemed the better option. For once, I chose well.

The car park was not busy, nor was the platform as we waited on the train from Bury. Our plan was to board at Heywood, run the entire length of the line to Rawtenstall, then head back, but to stop in Bury for something to eat. While waiting for the train, I availed myself of the Whistlestop Cafe on the station's platform and had me a delightful bacon butty, a rare treat that was most welcome.

The train duly arrived, a line of fairly ancient Mark 1 coaches hauled by a very ancient, 130 years ancient, 0-6-0 steam locomotive formerly of the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway. The sight, sound and smell of a steam loco is something special, and no more than at Heywood on this fine Saturday morning. I say fine, but it was raining just a tiny bit.

The loco was detached from one end the train, run around to the front and attached there, before hauling us off down the long hill into Bury Bolton Hill Station. Once the folks at Bury had boarded, the train set off north towards Rawtenstall, through the Irwell Valley and the bucolic northern English landscape.

The staff on the train were lovely, and made quite a fuss of Charlie. The ticket inspector let Charlie clip his own ticket, which he enjoyed immensely. Charlie also talked incessantly at a fellow traveller sat opposite, and the train's crew when they appeared, while DW and Emma enjoyed wine and crisps from the Buffet Car. I'm not sure how the others felt about Charlie's chatter, but he enjoyed it.

The run back to Bury was the same, with Charlie still holding court, but then that's what holidays are all about, isn't it?

In Bury we visited the Transport Museum across the road from the station. It's free if you have an ELR ticket, but even if we hadn't, their card reader was broken that day, so it was free for anyone. It's only small, but packed with all manner of transport goodies, including trains and buses, trucks and cranes. There was a modern, single-decker bus cab there that was for kids to get in and pretend to drive, and yes, it took a while to drag Charlie away.

We had a target eatery in Bury, but when we found it, it was rammed full and with no prospect of a free table any time soon. It was raining, so a search for another wasn't really working and we defaulted to a sit-down fish and chip place. Not the first choice for the ladies, but Charlie and I enjoyed it.

We had a bit of a wait for the train back to Heywood, the last one of the day. None of the little souvenir vendors attached to the ELR would take a bank card, and we had no cash, so few souvenirs were purchased. None at all, in fact. Bury is an interesting town, and there does seem to be a bit of pushback here against the cashless society. The station vendors didn't want cards, and neither did the chip shop, although they at least took ours rather than having us run out to get cash. Indeed, the ATMs in town were in use as we walked by, which was interesting because I haven't used one the whole time we've been here. Most places we've been have been card only, so Bury seems to be an outpost for cash.

People in Lancashire seem inordinately friendly, and will engage you in conversation at any time. The accents are brilliant, of course, but "Y'all right, love?" is a very common refrain everywhere you go. It stands in sharp contrast to the lengths people and businesses appear to want to go to protect themselves here. Perhaps the perception of problems is worse than the reality.

The run back into Salford was untroubled, and we even stopped at Birch Westbound Services on the M62 for a P&T stop, just because we could.

The morrow brings us the highlight of our Northern Tour, the trip to the Coronation Street studios down on Salford Quays. Charlie and Me won't be participating as we're going for a tram ride, thank goodness.

Blighty 2025 - More railways, and a near death experience.

I woke very early, and decided to take a walk to a local beauty spot called Durdle Door. It's a fantastic rock formation in the sea and can be viewed atop some commanding cliffs. The only thing was that it was seriously foggy at 0630hrs.

Still, I donned my running shoes and headed up Hambury Tout Steps to Durdle Door, marked as being one mile distant. I'd decided against a jacket or fleece, despite the chill of the fog, and very soon realised what a good idea that had been. The path up the cliff was very, very, steep. It is at least paved nowadays, but I was puffing and wheezing in a way I hadn't puffed and wheezed for many, many years. I took it easy but still had to stop frequently to catch my breath, and I seriously contemplated giving up, fearful of dropping down dead or something. 

I just read that on that path up the hill, you gain 345ft in height, over 0.4 miles (2112ft) in distance, which is a steep climb for anyone. Being so incredibly out of condition, I really felt the burn.

But the birdsong, and my stubbornness, kept me going, and eventually I reached the high point, albeit that it was shrouded in even thicker fog. As I got nearer my goal, I could hear the sea far below, even if I couldn't see it. There was quite a steep drop from the path's high point down to the Durdle Door viewing area, and I really felt it in my knees as I descended; goodness, this getting old is no joke.

There were already quite a few people at the viewing area, but I got the impression that some had overnighted in their cars in the car park at the top of the hill, because no one drives out here at seven in the morning. The Door was looking magnificent in the fog, and my view of it wasn't too badly obscured, especially as the fog at sea level wasn't so bad. Then it was time to walk back.

The stretch back up to the level of the cliff path was tough, especially as it was on loose stones and was criss-crossed by ditches cut by rainwater, but it was mercifully short. As I struggled up there, I paused frequently to check my birdsong app on my phone. The Skylarks, Corn Buntings, Goldfinches, Dunnocks and Jackdaws were out in force. Indeed, the Skylarks were amazingly busy, and I'm not sure I'd ever heard or seen one before, so that was a memorable moment or two.

The walk back down Hambury Tout Steps into Lulworth Cove was tough on my knees and my back, and it took me back to my youth, backpacking in the German Sauerland, where downhill sections while carrying packs were horrible on the knees. I met a man who was coming up the hill who was carrying an enormous rucksack on his back. He looked considerably older than me, but was gamely making his way up. I paused to say hello and as we parted he wished me a lovely day of rest, which I think implied that he had a day of walking ahead of him. Poor chap.

After a much needed shower, I gathered the family and we set off for Norden Station, at one end of the Swanage Railway, now a heritage railway. The original line ran from Swanage to Wareham where it connected with the main line between Weymouth and Southampton. British Rail closed the line in 1972, presumably because of falling traffic numbers, and I have the unique, if oblique, distinction of knowing that my older brother had travelled on the last BR train between Swanage and Wareham.

The movement to restart the railway after its closure began in 1978, but it wasn't until 2017 that the entire line between Swanage and Wareham was open for use by trains. Linking with the line at Wareham was problematical because British Rail was not keen to have the Swanage private trains running on their tracks approaching Wareham, or going into their station. So, Norden was designated the "end of the line" and double track was re-laid so that locomotives could be swapped from one end of the train to another. The people running the railway did strike a deal with Network Rail to operate a service in Wareham in 2017, and it ran for two seasons. However, the Government wasn't prepared to cough up the subsidy that a regular daily commuter line would attract, so the Swanage Railway people ceased the operation, and now all trains terminate at Norden.

Norden is actually a tiny little station, but the Isle of Purbeck Council has seen fit to install a good-sized car park adjacent to the station, and even though it was £4.20 to park for the day, it was nice to be able to leave out car there while we rode the rails. Our run into Swanage was in some lovely old Southern Region rolling stock, and was behind a big and noisy Class 20 diesel loco. There are two trains operating throughout the day, one diesel and one steam, and we'd missed the Battle of Britain Class steam Loco "Manston". However, we saw it as the trains passed at Harman's Cross. Charlie was as happy as Larry, of course, and absolutely loved travelling in the old train.

The first stop down from Norden is Corfe Castle. The village, impossibly pretty in Purbeck stone, is huddled under the huge Motte of the 11th Century Norman castle. Cromwell and his Parliamentarians partially demolished it after the Civil War, but what remains is the most romantic set of castle ruins that you can imagine. From any angle, it's just magnificent. While we didn't really have time to get out and explore, just viewing from the train as it slid gently past was just wonderful.

We trundled down to Swanage into the lovely little terminus station there, and took a gentle walk down to the sea front. Swanage has a broad crescent of a sandy beach, and given that the weather was warm and glorious on this late May day, the place was thronged with families enjoying both promenade and the beach. Emma bought (more) postcards, and we had a bag of chips (fries, for the non-Brits) while sitting looking out into the bay. You could even see the high white cliffs of the Isle of Wight on the horizon. 

Back at Swanage station, Emma dropped lots of money on souvenirs again, and we waited for the Class 20 diesel to hove into view. The last coach on the train was the "Devon Belle" observation car, an old carriage with big windows to the side, and more importantly, on the end. We stumped up a bit more cash to sit in there as the train headed back to Norden, and watched the rails recede into the distance as we quietly boiled in the magnified sunshine.

We had planned to stop at Corfe Castle on the way back, but circumstances dictated that we had to head back to Lulworth in fairly short order, so it was straight back to the car, and on to Lulworth Cove.

I have to say that the Swanage railway is a delight. It's not as swept up and professional as the GWSR at Broadway, but it has a lovely, country feel to it with its tiny stations and Southern Region quirks like concrete lamp posts and station sign holders. I hope it prospers in the years to come.

Sunday was slated as going home day, although as the accommodation at Lulworth had been paid for until Monday, it didn't have to be. We'll see what happens.

Blighty 2025 - Full Steam Ahead, and other silly sayings

Today we made the fairly short trip to the Cotswold village of Broadway, and the Gloucestershire and Warwickshire Steam Railway, better known as the GWSR. For my North American readers that's the "Glostershure and Worrickshure Steam Railway".

Broadway is better known for it's idyllic main street, broad and lined with Cotswold Stone buildings, albeit that it's all gone a bit high-priced and touristy these days. But at the bottom of that street is the old Cheltenham to Stratford-Upon-Avon railway line, raised from the dead by a dedicated band of volunteers and now running regular jaunts between Broadway and Cheltenham Racecourse, with trains normally hauled by steam locomotives. Heritage railways are on the up in the UK, and the GWSR is an excellent example of how to do it correctly.

There is a good history of the line on the GWSR website, from it's original inception in 1899, to the present day, and you can read about it here.

Our drive over there through the pretty, if twisty, roads of the Cotswolds was easy, and the weather was set fair as well. There's a car park next to Broadway Station, operated by the local council, and it was there that we pulled in and I went to pay. Now parking in the UK is expensive, and these days dominated by parking apps for mobile phones; witness the parking at British Rail stations. But here it was either coins, of which I had none, or a parking app that I didn't have on my phone. I loaded the app using the data only e-sim I've been using to avoid the scandalous charges by my Canadian cell phone provider, but of course the app wanted to confirm the phone number by sending me an SMS message. OK, I switched e-sims and fired up Rogers Canada, only to find no signal. Bugger, I thought.

Dear Wife legged it on up to the station to buy our GWSR train tickets, while I nipped into a little petrol station on the roadside and bought a chocolate bar with a £10 note, asking for my change in £1 coins. Oh my goodness, you'd have thought I'd have asked him to sign his daughter into slavery! What a face on the man! Still, he did cough up the requisite coins. Back at the car park, I shovelled five coins into the machine and received two tickets, one to go on the dashboard of the car, and one to exchange at the station ticket office for a £3 discount on the train fare. Result. I was a wee bit crestfallen when Dear Wife and Emma expressed surprised that I'd had the gumption to read the tickets and bring one up to the station, how nice it is that people have confidence in my abilities.

The train was standing in the station, big green Merchant Navy Class locomotive at the front, Peninsular and Oriental (P&O for the ordinary folks), number 35006, ready to haul us down to Cheltenham Racecourse. The carriages, or cars, were not new but were considerably newer than the loco, and took myself and Dear Wife back in time to when we were taken on train trips as kids ourselves. Charlie of course was ecstatic.

The loco huffed and puffed and we set off south through the lush, and I mean lush, Cotswold countryside. The rail line has a lot of infrastructure that has to be maintained, stations, bridges, viaducts and tunnels, and everything looked so well cared for. The stations on the line had more or less been demolished when British Rail closed the line, but the GWSR has brought them back, from rebuilt signal boxes, to new platforms and old station buildings, and right down to some period signage and posters. For a train nerd, it is absolute heaven, and for us oldies, it really stirred some memories.

We had traditional card tickets, which were duly "clipped" by the train's guard part way through the trip. The sound and smell of the steam loco was magical and our stately progress allowed us to soak up the Vale of Evesham and the Severn Valley views, and the hills of Malvern and beyond. The weather was bright and sunny, and that added to the enjoyment.

At the Racecourse we alighted and watched the loco uncouple from the front of the train and trundle around to the back, to be coupled on there and be ready for the return trip to Broadway. We availed ourselves of snacks from the outlet on the station, which bore more than a passing resemblance to a garden shed, and boarded the train once again for the slow run north.

Back at Broadway, we watched the loco get relocated from one end of the train to the other again, only this time, when the loco was ready and they were waiting for the signal, the driver let Charlie, and a couple of other kids, up onto the footplate. You can imagine how delighted the little fellow was to be standing on a real, fired up and working steam engine. That was such a nice touch at the end of a day when everyone associated with the railway had been so lovely.

Heading home, we climbed (in the car) the very steep Fish Hill, and paused at the top to visit Broadway Tower, a folly built right on the edge of the escarpment and commanding amazing views. Of course it was just closing up for the day, but we stopped for a few minutes in the car park and took in the view, which was breathtaking, at least in a bucolic, English way. We were actually chivvied out of the car park by an anxious worker there, keen to lock the gates, so we climbed back into the Carrot and headed home. 

When the the lady in the Satnav became unexpectedly quiet at a key intersection, I naturally took the wrong road of the two available, but we enjoyed a short and pretty diversion through the tiny village of Upper Oddington which, apart from having the narrowest roads in the UK, was really nice.

A quiet evening in was capped by watching our beloved Chelsea Football Club win the UEFA Europa Conference League final, streamed for free through Discovery+, and shown through a nice TV in the cottage using a "borrowed" HDMI cable (I put it back when the game was over). A good day, I think.